Sam's Summer Job
by jublke
Summary: Sam's old and new worlds collide when Dean unexpectedly walks into the Oregon optical shop where he's working a summer job. Pre-series, set during the Stanford era. Somewhat AU.
1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester paced before the storefront of the small shop in rural Oregon, fingering a folded piece of paper in the front pocket of his jeans. He shivered slightly, in spite of the red plaid flannel he wore over his grey T-shirt. The day was unseasonably cool, with a low ceiling of dull clouds. The weather perfectly reflected Dean's somber mood.

 _I can do this_ , he told himself. Pushing open the glass door with his good arm, he tried not to jostle the sling protecting his right wrist. The bells on the door happily signaled his arrival.

Dean stood just inside the door and stared at the crowded shelving, with row after row of near-identical items. The stuffy air smelled of mothballs. It took every ounce of self-preservation he had not to run out of the shop.

"Be right there," came a man's voice from the back. If Dean hadn't been so nervous, it might have registered that the person sounded familiar.

Dean began to pace around the small room, heart hammering. He stepped close enough to look at the prices and swallowed hard. _Better than Wal-Mart_ , he thought, but the $50 that Dad had given him wouldn't even come close. Dean began to mentally catalogue the money that he had squirreled away for emergencies and had just reached the conclusion that it was pointless, when a tall man stood before him.

"May I help you?"

Dean's eyes travelled up the light gray suit, past the baby pink tie, and rested on the stranger's face. His green eyes widened to comical proportions. "Sammy?"

His brother wore a similar quizzical expression. "Dean?" Sam pushed his bangs off his face and wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "What're you doing here?"

 _Not buying glasses_ , Dean thought quickly. "Just ... uh ... checking up on you." His gaze dropped to the floor as he tried to hide the redness in his cheeks.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked with a frown, eyeing the sling and the freshly stitched gash over Dean's right eye. "Is Dad with you?"

Sam's voice trembled ever so slightly at the mention of their father and Dean brought his full attention back to his little brother. He ignored Sam's first question in favor of the second. "Yeah, but he's not with me right now. He's across town at Wal-Mart, loading up on supplies."

Sam relaxed fractionally and nodded. "Good." He studied his brother. "It's ... it's good to see you, Dean."

Dean gave him a sad smile. "You too, Sammy."

A burly older man emerged from the back and Sam stiffened. On reflex, Dean was instantly on guard too. "Sam, I need those ..." The gruff tone changed instantly. "Oh, I didn't realize you were with a customer." He gave both men a wide smile as he walked over.

Sam's puppy dog eyes met Dean's. _Play along. Please_.

Dean extended his non-injured left hand. "Dean. Dean Win ... Winters."

"George Myers." The man returned the awkward handshake. He smelled of kielbasa and cigarette smoke; not the freshest of smells but nothing to explain why his moose of a brother hadn't relaxed his rigid posture at all. "What brings you in today?"

Dean connected the dots and hoped he was making the right call. Myers would monopolize his limited time with Sam if Dean didn't handle this right. "Sam here was helping me pick out some new ..." He cast around for inspiration. "Lens cloths," he finished, lamely.

Sam stood behind the shop owner rolling his eyes, but he gave Dean a half grin anyway.

With a sizable sale off the table, Myers was no longer interested in Dean. "Good, good," he said, patting Sam roughly on the back. "I'm sure the kid here will fix you right up." Sam's face tightened and Dean felt a protective surge he hadn't experienced in some time. "Remember, Sam, you need to finish restocking later."

"Yes, sir." It was almost funny, watching Sam's bitch face when it was directed - however discretely - at someone else.

As soon as the older man left for the stockroom, Sam's shoulders relaxed.

"What was that about?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "I'm staying with my girlfriend Jess' family for the summer. Her dad's a doctor here and he convinced Mr. Myers to give me a job while I'm in town." His brother blew out a breath. "But business has been slow and I'm not exactly earning my keep."

Dean frowned, looking around the optical shop. "I wish I could help you, Sammy, but I can't afford anything in here."

Sam's hazel eyes narrowed in the way they did when he'd unlocked a puzzle. "You need glasses?"

"I didn't ..." _Mean to say that_ , Dean thought. He closed his eyes briefly under the scrutiny. With reluctance, he reached into his pocket and handed Sam his prescription.

When Dean opened his eyes, Sam had fixed him with a concerned expression. "You didn't know I was here, did you? That's why you looked so surprised to see me."

Dean couldn't deny his little brother when Sam looked at him with those eyes. He swallowed and nodded. "I thought you were at Stanford." Dean looked away. "The ... uh ... the eye doc at Wal-Mart said you guys have the best prices in town."

Sam nodded, digesting that. "How much did Dad give you?"

"Fifty bucks. And a fake credit card that's almost tapped out." As Sam's eyes widened, Dean quickly added, "But I ain't using that here, obviously. I got another twenty on me."

Sam appeared to do the mental math before he frowned. Shaking his head, he started to hand the script back, before snatching it up again and examining it more closely.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was puzzled. "Do you wear glasses now?" As the older brother shook his head, Sam's eyebrows lifted. "Then you shouldn't be driving." Sam's eyes raked over his brother's right side. "Is that why you got hurt? You couldn't see what you were tracking? And Dad finally figured it out and made you get your eyes checked?" When Dean didn't reply, Sam pressed on. "Dean, you can't hunt until you can see properly. It's not safe."

Dean grabbed back the prescription. "How I spend my time is none of your business, Sammy. You wanted nothing to do with the family business, remember?" He shoved the script back into his pocket and moved toward the door.

Sam took a long stride and placed a careful hand on Dean's injured side. "I never said I wanted out of the family, Dean. That was all Dad." When Dean turned to look at him, Sam's eyes reflected the love and concern that he had missed so much since Sammy left for college.

"Look," his brother went on. "Let me pay for your glasses." As Dean shook his head, Sam nodded. "I've got the money saved back." He reached into his wallet and pulled out a wad of twenties, stuffing them into Dean's sling. "You'll be doing me a favor." He gestured at the back room. "As long as you continue to pretend you don't know me. Myers might even give me a raise." When Dean still didn't reply, Sam admitted, "Dean, I've been working here for over two weeks and I haven't sold a single thing. I need your help."

"Fine." He handed the script back and let Sam lead him to a rack of titanium frames flanking a large mirror. As he tried on the first pair, Dean frowned at his reflection. "Bitch," he directed at his brother.

Sam's reflection smiled back at him. "Jerk."

* * *

Not mine, don't own. Obviously, if I did, the boys would wear glasses and/or contacts.

The first fic I wrote for this fandom, _Never Show Weakness_ , was based on a prompt where Dean got glasses while Sam was at Stanford, but never told him. I'm not sure where this one came from, but it's inspired from the same prompt. It's always bugged me that Sam seemed to cut off all ties with Dean after he left for college. I guess I wanted some explanation for that too.

I have a loose idea for continuing this, so I'm leaving it open for now. Maybe I'll add another chapter sometime. Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

My thanks to MarbleWolf, celinenaville, and Al for your comments on the previous chapter. Not sure where I'm headed with this, but I think it's going to take me at least two more chapters to get there.

Not mine, don't own. I don't have a beta yet, so if you see an error, please let me know. Thanks for reading!

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own._

* * *

"So, what do you think? Two pairs of glasses and some prescription sunglasses?" Sam stood next to Dean with a clipboard, neat in his suit and tie, watching as his older brother fidgeted in front of a mirror with heavy black frames on his face. The hipster glasses actually worked well with the plaid flannel, jeans, and work boots, but Dean still felt like an imposter.

He looked at himself from all angles. It was hard to picture looking like this day in and day out. _Will glasses even stay on during a hunt?_ Contacts seemed like a better option, but they cost even more than the glasses did. He sighed.

Dean removed the frames awkwardly with his left hand, careful not to jar his right arm. "It's too much." He handed the glasses back to Sam.

"You'll get used to them. With dark polycarbonate lenses in, they'll look just like regular sunglasses. You'll want the anti-glare and the scratch-resistant coating -"

Dean grabbed the pen from his brother's grip. "It's too much money, Sam. I only need one pair."

Sam's expression contorted into a classic bitch face. "Dean -" he began, stilling as his eyes flicked across the room. At the sight of his boss, Sam's voice lost the impassioned plea and took on a practical edge. "With your line of work, Mr. Winters, I'd recommend at least two pairs of glasses. You need a backup pair. And with the amount of driving you do for your job, I think prescription sunglasses are essential." He huffed slightly at his brother when Myers' back was turned. Sam widened his eyes at Dean and tipped his head. Dean had seen this look often from his bitchy little brother: _Stop arguing with me and agree already!_

Dean gave the younger man a forced smile. "How much did you say this was going to set me back?"

Sam blinked. In his quest to make the sale, he'd apparently forgotten that adding in two extra pairs of glasses might throw them over budget. He squinted at his clipboard and twisted his lips while doing the math. Shaking his head at the price, he calculated and recalculated the figures. "With your budget, Mr. Winters, I believe we could get you in the titanium frames. They have a lifetime warranty. And the dark plastic sunglasses will have to serve as your backup pair for now." He looked up from the clipboard and gave his brother an apologetic look.

Dean shrugged. "How long's it gonna take to get these made?"

Sam released a breath with a genuine smile. Dean wondered if he was merely happy about the sale or if he was relieved to know that Dean was actually filling the prescription.

"We should have them ready in three days. I hope you can wait that long." There was a pleading in Sam's eyes that Dean wasn't quite sure how to interpret. _Does Sam just want me to stay off the hunt until my specs come in or does he actually want to see me?_

"Yeah, uh," Dean cleared his throat. "My partner wants to head out tonight. Got a job down in New Mexico. We'll have to swing back here after."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're driving with your arm like that?" Dean heard the undercurrent of judgmental worry: _You're hunting when you can't see and your arm's busted? Are you outta your mind?_

Dean ground his teeth. "I gotta keep my job." He stared at Sam. _You know Dad. Not like I have anywhere else to be. You left._

Sam swallowed hard as Mr. Myers came forward and took Dean's purchase order to ring it into the antiquated cash register. He gave Sam a pat on the back.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Winters," the older man said to Dean. "We'll call you when these come in."

As Dean nodded to the owner, Sam fixed his brother with a glare. _You're an idiot. Why do you always do whatever Dad wants?_

Dean sighed. He'd thought he missed the way he and Sam could communicate without words, but this back and forth was exhausting and Dean was still sore from the Wendigo attack. He needed to take another pain pill and that meant he needed food. Soon.

"Uh, Sam," he hesitated. "Could you, uh, point me toward the nearest diner?"

Sam blinked uncertainly. He looked at Mr. Myers.

The older man nodded, humming happily as he counted the cash in his till. "Go on, Sam. It's nearly five anyway." He smiled at the tall young man. "Good work today."

Sam shook his head. "I still need to restock -"

"You'll take care of it tomorrow," Myers said. "Go take care of our newest customer."

And he ushered both men out the door.

* * *

Once on the sidewalk, Dean gave Sam an appraising look and smiled. "Lookin' sharp there, Sammy. Life must be treating you well."

Sam stared at the tips of his shiny black shoes. "The diner is this way," he said in a strained voice, awkwardly waving goodbye to his boss, who was watching them closely through the glass.

Dean's smile faltered. He waited until they were further down the street before asking, "Not the easiest guy to please, I guess?" The pair kept pace with each other; even after three years apart their steps fell right into sync.

Sam huffed. "He's still better to work for than Dad." His little brother crossed his arms protectively. "How ... how is Dad, anyway?" Sam bit his lip.

"Fine." Dean shook his head. "He's gonna to be so surprised when I tell him I saw you today -"

"Dean!" At his brother's insistence, Dean's head snapped up. "I don't want you to tell him. I don't want to see him."

"Sam -"

"No, Dean, I get it, I do. You want us to make peace but there's nothing left there to salvage. Dad threw me out." Sam studied his shoes.

Dean stopped walking and lowered his eyebrows. "You left."

Sam tipped his head up and looked intently at his brother. "I wanted to go to college, Dean! I got a full ride to Stanford. What would you do?" Before Dean could answer, Sam snapped, "Oh, sure. You'd just give up your entire life and follow the man blindly."

Dean shook his head slightly and raised his eyebrows at the brother who had just sold him two pairs of glasses. "Right. Blind idiot. Got it." He wrapped his left arm carefully around his right and resumed walking.

"Shit, Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

Dean sighed. Dusk had fallen and fingers of fog were creeping in from the side streets. The chill aggravated the pain in his wrist and Dean began to rub his arm methodically. "How far is this diner of yours?"

Sam pointed at a white sign several blocks away. "Larry's Deli and Grub." At Dean's raised eyebrow, Sam shrugged. "I hear they've got good cheeseburgers."

Dean squinted down the main drag of this tiny town. The fog wasn't doing his vision any favors. But if Sam said the restaurant was up ahead, that was good enough for him.

"Dean, did you drive here?" Sam's worried bitch face was studying Dean's closely, and Dean felt entirely too self-conscious about his waning eyesight. "I didn't see the Impala parked on Main Street."

He nodded, not meeting his brother's eyes. "Second Street, I think."

"Dean, you can't drive like this." Sam waved a hand to encompass Dean's eyes and arm.

He glared at his Sasquatch of a brother. "I've been drivin' since you were sucking your thumb."

"I was twelve, Dean! It was one time!" Sam stopped, folded his arms, and glared at his brother. "Please take a few days off. You know you're in no condition to hunt, no matter what Dad says. Tell him to go on without you. You can meet back up with him later."

Dean swallowed hard, weighing his choices. _Sam or Dad?_ But Sam had walked away from the Winchester way of life and Dean didn't think he could stand it if Sammy left him again. It was easier not to open himself up.

Sam, sensing Dean's indecision, grasped the older man's good shoulder and squeezed. "At least wait until your glasses come in. They're gonna make your life so much easier." He dropped his hand. "And I - I want to see you. We haven't talked in a long time." Sam swallowed hard as his face twitched. "I miss you."

"I've missed you, too, Sammy. But Dad -"

"You need to get going, I know." Sam shook his head sadly. "Let's at least eat dinner together, okay?"


	3. Chapter 3

Not mine, don't own. If you see any mistakes or canon errors, feel free to drop me a line. I still don't have a beta. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Dean had just ordered a slice of pie and a cup of coffee when the pleasant conversation with his brother took a plunging trip off the rails. After several hours of talking, he'd finally been starting to relax, too. Dean had filled Sam in on the lives of their hunting friends, with updates on the likes of Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb, while Sam had chattered on about his pre-law classes and extolled the virtues of his girlfriend Jess. The burger was nice and juicy, the fries extra crispy with just the right amount of salt, and Sam had smiled back at him over an enormous plate of rabbit food. Just like old times.

Dean dared to believe that he and Sammy might actually get past the three-year chasm of non-communication when it happened. A young man in a suit jacket and tie walked past, stopped, and made a beeline for their table.

"Sam! It's so good to see you!" The dark-haired youth - a friend from Stanford, Dean presumed - gave his brother a quick hug. "How've you been, man?" The newcomer's eyes darted curiously between the two Winchesters seated in the booth.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, waiting for his brother to make the introductions. But Sam looked away, an odd expression crossing his face. "Hey, Rick," he said, quietly. Sam's eyes dropped away from the table, away from Dean, to the diner carpet.

And in that moment, Dean was acutely aware of the differences in their lives. Here he was, dressed in ripped blue jeans, with a trussed up arm and monster tracks over one eye, while his brother wore a tailored suit and tie.

The other man - Rick - didn't pick up on Sam's discomfort. "Who's this?" he asked Sam, extending a polite hand to Dean. "Rick Fleming."

Dean returned the handshake with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dean." He swallowed, hard. "Dean Winters."

As Sam looked up, shocked, Dean added, "Friend of the family, right Sammy? We go way back."

Sam's face began to twitch.

Rick was clueless as to the subtext. He smiled openly at Dean. "Nice to meet ya. How long you in town for? You meet his girl yet? That's going to be some engagement party."

 _Enagement? Party? Sammy's getting married?_

Dean ran his free hand down the back of his neck. He pressed his lips together and blinked against the unexpected prickle of tears. "Yeah, I'm sure it is," he said, gruffly, plastering on a fake smile. "Wish I could be there for it." He met Sam's guilty eyes. "But I have to work." Dean slammed down the wall between them; the look he gave his brother was sheer ice.

There was a tense moment before Dean waved down the waitress. "Sweetheart, can you pack that pie to go? I need to head out." Dean threw two bills on the table. "Rick, it was great meeting you. Why don't you take my seat and keep Sam here company?" And he walked out, carrying a cup of coffee in his left hand and a slice of pie tucked in his sling, not bothering to look back.

* * *

It wasn't until Dean was in the Impala, driving back to the motel, that he seriously began to question his judgment. The fleabag motel room he'd been sharing with Dad was a 45-minute drive away. Driving one-handed had been tough enough during the day when it was light out and he could see reasonably well - despite what Sam seemed to think - but in the dark, with fog, on roads he didn't know? _Yeah. Not the brightest move, Winchester. No wonder Sammy thinks you're stupid._

Said little brother had tried to call at least ten times by now, but Dean refused to answer. _What is there to say, really? Sam's ashamed of me. That says it all._

He slowed the car to a crawl as he and Baby passed through a particularly dense patch of fog. Once the haze lifted, Dean began to accelerate, hoping to make up for lost time. _Eventually Dad's going to wonder where I am, right?_

Dean took his hand off the steering wheel just long enough to rub his tired eyes. When he looked up, a deer stood in the middle of the road, directly in front of his car.

* * *

"He's not answering my calls." Sam paced around Jessica's room, face twitching, wringing his hands.

Jess reached for him. "Baby, calm down. I'm sure he's fine. From what you've told me about Dean, he can more than take care of himself."

Instead of calming her fiancé down, her words seemed to agitate him further. "Jess, you don't understand. He was really upset when he left. I should have gone after him but I didn't want to make a scene with Rick there. He's not in good shape right now." Sam chewed his lip. "It's all my fault, Jess. He practically raised me, you know? And I was so worried about what Rick might think that I didn't even acknowledge him." Sam shook his head sadly. "I need to know he's okay." He sat down next to Jess and crumpled into her. "I don't know what to do."

* * *

Instinct kicked in. Dean slammed on the brakes as hard as he could. Before he had even thought it through, he was gripping the steering wheel tight in both hands, yanking it to the right. The deer jumped left, brushing the driver's side. The impact jarred and jostled the Impala, and the car began to skid off the road toward a ditch. Bolts of pain lanced up Dean's injured arm and he cried out in pain. His vision flicked in and out, sparkles of white flashing as he fought to control both the car and his panic. Then there was a mighty pop, and the car juddered to a stop.

Dean sat back in the seat, trying to calm his breathing. _I'm okay, it's all right, the car's fine, everything's okay_ repeated on a loop in his mind. Tentatively, he opened the door and exited the car. What he saw made his stomach turn. The driver's side headlight was smashed beyond recognition and the front tire was completely flat. Dean dropped to his knees and threw up.

* * *

"He's still not picking up!" Sam threw the phone across the room and dropped back on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Sam. There's nothing more you can do tonight. He's probably got the ringer off," Jess reasoned. She began to rub his back.

"I'm such an idiot," Sam mumbled beneath his hair.

Jess wrapped her arms around him, her wavy blond hair brushing his shoulders. "Yes, but you're my idiot." She smiled at him and he gave her a faint smile in return before kissing her.

"What would I ever do without you?"

"Let's hope you never have to find out."

* * *

 _"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If it's an emergency, call my son Dean -"_

Dean ended the call and fought down a wave of panic. _This is not good. This is so not good._ He did a quick assessment of his situation: injured, no means of transportation, no money to pay for repairs, no way to reach his father.

 _Maybe I can sleep here for the night. Someone will be along in the morning._

But despite the day's heat, summer nights in the Oregon mountains were cool. The foggy air was so damp that it chilled Dean and he began to shiver, despite his flannel outer layer. His arm wouldn't stop hurting, pain flaring with each pulse of his heart.

He picked up the phone again. Twelve missed calls from Sam. No missed calls from Dad.

* * *

Sam's tongue had just entwined with Jessica's when he heard a buzzing sound from across the room. At first, he dismissed the noise as he deepened the kiss. But suddenly, it registered that his phone was ringing and Sam broke apart from Jess, bounded over the bed, and tackled the phone in under a minute.

"Dean?!"

"Hey Sammy." His brother's voice was faint.

Sam swallowed and began to pace again, clutching the phone. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Had a bit of an accident ..."

"Dean, where are you? Are you okay?" Jess stood next to Sam now, clutching his hand.

"'m okay. Baby's got a flat tire, though. I need a tow." There was a wince. "Might have dislocated my wrist again." His brother sounded winded.

 _Dislocated. Again._ Sam shook his head. "Dean, sit tight. Jess and I are coming to get you."

"Can't leave m'baby."

"Dean. It's a car. You can't afford a tow in the middle of the night and neither can I. We'll get it tomorrow. Where the hell is Dad?"

"Dunno." His brother sounded sleepy.

"Dean!" Sam was racing down the stairs now, Jess in tow, waving off concerned looks from Jessica's parents. "You need to keep talking to me, okay?" They exited into the garage and climbed into Jessica's little Subaru, Sam in the passenger's seat. "Where were you headed?"

There was a pause. "Canyon Something?" There was no conviction behind his words.

"Dean, I need more to go on than that. Canyon Falls, Yellow Canyon, Whitewater Ridge?"

"The ridge." Dean coughed. "I think ... I think I'm stuck on the ridge."

Sam tried to picture the road Dean must have taken. Jessica was already driving frantically toward the nearest mountain pass. "Did you cross a bridge?"

"M'hmm."

"Dean!" Sam threw some heat behind the word.

"Wha?"

"I need you to stay with me. So you crossed a bridge. Then what?"

"Hit a deer."

Sam rubbed the bridge of his noise and sighed deeply. "I told you not to drive tonight. Why won't you ever listen to me?" Jess reached over and patted Sam on the knee. He recognized her message immediately: _Go easy on him._

"Y'know me, Sammy." The words were faint. "Fuck up everything I touch." His brother's voice, sad and small, broke over the words. The wall of bravado and indifference that Dean so carefully crafted was completely down now and his brother didn't have the strength to put it back up.

Sam swallowed over the lump in his throat and wiped his right eye with the back of his hand. "Dean, I see the car." He pointed out the Impala to Jess, noting with relief that it hadn't slid too far off into the embankment.

The minute Jess put the Subaru in park, Sam burst out the door and sprinted over to where Dean sat hunched by the back left tire, sling discarded, curled in around himself. His face was so pale in the glow from the Subaru's headlights that he looked ghostly. Sam pocketed his phone and knelt by his brother's side, placing a hand on Dean's left shoulder. "I'm here, Dean. I've got you."


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own _Supernatural_. If I did, there would be a lot less blood and many more chick-flick moments.

My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta-reading this chapter. I also appreciate the comments from Fanpire101, Samanthawolfe2, and Marblewolf on the previous chapter. Any remaining errors are mine.

Note: I am not a doctor. But then, Jess and Sam aren't either. Triaging medical injuries is best left to the experts. (And the Winchester brothers, especially if Castiel has his angel mojo on him.)

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own_.

* * *

Jess stood back from the brothers, shivering in her tank top, and watched as Sam tended to Dean. The light from her car's headlights showed her fiancé's face in stark relief. Instead of tense and worried, as she had expected, he wore a mask of grim determination. His large hands gently poked and prodded at the man on the ground, assessing him for injuries with a detached proficiency that she wasn't aware he possessed. Surely, when he had helped her to study for her anatomy classes, he would have mentioned that he already knew how to triage injuries?

 _Unless ... what if Sam learned all of this from direct experience? Is this part of the mysterious past he never talks about? It might explain the large number of scars on his body._

The man on the ground, the famed Dean, looked nothing like the cocky superhero of Sam's few childhood stories. Pale and beaten, his face appeared waxy. Blood dripped from his forehead; a new gash to rival the chain of stitches over his right eye. Sam was now tucking his brother's right arm back into the sling, causing the injured man's eyes to lose focus. Even from a distance, Jess could tell that Dean's irises were an intense shade of emerald green, quite different than Sam's warm hazel.

 _Cleaned up and in decent clothes_ , she mused, _Dean would be quite attractive. Not as handsome as Sam, of course, but then really, who was?_

The object of her affection walked over. Only when he was out of his brother's line of sight did Sam let the worry show on his face. "We need to take him to the ER," he revealed, voice strained. "He's busted at least one rib and he has an open fracture of the wrist."

"No hospital!" Dean growled from the ground.

Sam whirled, anger overriding fear. "Dean! This isn't up for debate." He swallowed hard and turned back to Jess. "I need you to help me get him into the car."

Jess tipped her head up at him. "We should wait for an ambulance, Sam. He might have internal bleeding." She took out her phone to dial, but Sam clamped a hand over it.

"It will take them thirty minutes to get here! He's in a lot of pain. We need to -"

She held up a hand. "I'm checking him over first." At Sam's annoyed huff, she glared at him. "I am not moving him if he has a spinal cord injury."

"Jess! He walked out of the car! He doesn't have -"

Ignoring Sam, Jess hurried over to Dean and knelt by his side. His eyes were closed, but they popped open the minute she placed a hand on his forehead. Cool and clammy. With her other hand, she checked his pulse: weak but steady, slightly elevated.

"How're you feeling, Dean? I'm Jess." She smiled at him, pleased when his eyes locked on hers.

"Sammy's Jess?" He gave her a half grin.

"The one and only."

"Where'd you come from?"

Her smile faltered slightly. He was less alert than she'd thought if he only just now realized that she was here.

"We need to move him now!" Sam insisted, wearing a track in the muddy earth as he paced around them.

Jess' fingers deftly travelled over Dean's neck and spine. When she didn't feel anything amiss or elicit any indication of pain, she relaxed. "Sorry we had to meet like this," she said to Dean. "You up for moving?"

When he grunted in the affirmative, Jess and Sam locked eyes. On the count of three - but right after Sam said one - they hoisted the older man to his feet. Dean groaned. "No hospital," he ground out, wincing as he tried to carry his own weight.

"Dean! Stop fighting me. Just lean on me, all right?" It was only after Dean acquiesced, and the brothers were side-by-side, that Jess realized the older of the two was a good three or four inches shorter. "Where are your keys, Dean?" Sam demanded.

Jess checked the ignition of the Impala. "I've got them, Sam," she replied, sprinting over to her little Subaru to open the back door.

"Nice wheels, Sammy," Dean teased. His voice was raspy.

Sam ignored Dean as he gently maneuvered him into the back seat. "Jess, can you get into the Impala's trunk and get his duffle?"

Jess ran back over to the classic car and opened the trunk, where she found a warm flannel blanket and an army surplus duffle bag. Taking them both out, her eye caught a glint of metal peeking out from under the felt floor of the trunk. On instinct, she pulled up the false floor. An array of bizarre weaponry assaulted her senses, all sharp and nasty, reeking of entrails and blood. She shut the trunk with a shriek.

"You okay there, Jess?" Sam was by her side in an instant.

"What is all that stuff?" she whispered. "Is your brother an axe murderer? Is he running from the law? Is that why he doesn't want to go to the hospital?"

Sam took the Impala's keys from her and sighed as he ran his hands through his long hair. "Jess -"

"No, Sam Winchester, you answer me! Or I am not taking that man anywhere, brother or not." She folded her arms and glared up at him, trying to hide the shaking.

"He's a hunter," Sam tried to explain, his voice pained and tinged with guilt.

"You are such a bad liar. Does this have anything to do with why we are constantly running out of salt? Or why you buy silver knives at yard sales?"

"Jess! We're leaving now! We can have this stupid argument at the hospital. If you trust me enough to marry me, believe me when I say that Dean is one of the good guys. He would never hurt you."

She studied him, mouth twisting uneasily. "Okay."


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own _Supernatural_. If I did, Jess would still be alive and Dean would be an uncle by now.

My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta-reading this chapter and for helping me with John Winchester, who is even more of a pain in the ass than his sons. Any remaining errors are mine.

I also appreciate the comments from Fanpire101 and Marblewolf on the previous chapter. :)

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own_.

* * *

Sam sat in the waiting room of the surgical wing with a clipboard of papers in his lap and Jess by his side. The first few pages had been easy - he could rattle off Dean's age, birth date, and medical history without too much trouble. He used Bobby's salvage yard for Dean's home address. Normally, the Winchesters filled out hospital forms to fit the profile of whomever they were scamming for the week, but not this time. Jess' father worked at this hospital and that posed a huge problem for Sam. He studied the blank page of insurance information with a deep frown. He touched pen to paper at the line marked "responsible party", looked at Jess, and then looked back to the paper. This went on for several minutes until Jess spoke.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

He sighed. "Dean doesn't have any medical insurance."

She shrugged. "So? He can pay out of pocket. You can set up payment plans. I heard my Dad talk about it one time."

The father in question had already called Jess once to check on Dean, and Sam knew that he would personally oversee the care of his baby girl's soon-to-be brother-in-law. On one hand, Sam was touched that Jess' dad would make the effort. On the other, he knew this summer was a test drive with her family to make certain that he was good enough for their little girl. Sam couldn't stomach the idea of leaving this equation in Dean's hands.

"Jess, his job doesn't pay very well. Like at all." Sam chewed his lip.

"What are you saying?" Jess studied her fiancé's troubled expression.

"He needs the surgery." Sam pulled out the puppy dog eyes and Jess frowned.

He saw the exact moment realization hit because her eyes widened like saucers. "Sam, you set that money aside for our wedding! You can't be serious!"

The door to the surgical wing swung open and a harried nurse in blue scrubs called out, "Mr. Winchester? Is there a relative of Dean Winchester here?"

Sam stood and walked over. "That would be me. I'm his brother. Is there a problem?"

The nurse shook her head. "Come with me." She turned and began to walk back toward the swinging doors.

Sam's hands flailed at her as his eyes widened. "Is he okay? What's going on?"

The nurse stopped to look at him and gave a slight chuckle. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester. Didn't mean to frighten you. Your brother is fine. But now that we gave him something to take the edge off and he's properly hydrated, he's refusing to consent to surgery. He's lucid enough to make that decision, but it's a bad idea. We were hoping you could talk some sense into him."

Jess charged over to Sam and tugged at his sleeve. Sam held up a hand to the nurse and turned his attention back to his fiancée. "What?" he barked.

"Maybe Dean has a point."

"What? Why?"

"Maybe we should wait until you make contact with your Dad. He might know of a cheaper place to get this done. Plus, it doesn't make sense for you to be liable for him, Sam! That's your dad's job! Didn't you say your brother works for your dad?"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Jess, you don't understand."

She folded her arms and glared up at him. "I understand that your dysfunctional family turned up and now you're trying to play the savior. Sam, this is our future! Dean's medical bills could bankrupt us! We hardly have anything saved back as it is! You don't have any idea how much all of this is gonna cost!"

"He's my brother, Jess! I can't believe you would even suggest this."

"A brother you haven't spoken to in three years, Sam! Not once, in the whole time we've been together."

"Jess, please. It's complicated." He reached a hand to her as she pulled away from him, not realizing that the nurse was still watching this interplay.

The older woman sighed. "We'll get your brother stabilized as best we can, Mr. Winchester, and draw up his discharge papers, but he's going against medical advice. That arm is ripe for infection. He needs immediate surgical treatment." She stood her ground, clearly wanting a different outcome.

Sam looked between his fiancée, who had walked over to the bank of windows in tears, and back at the impatient nurse. A growing pit of despair filled his stomach.

The elevator dinged at that moment and a bearded man in heavy flannel walked toward the awkward little group. He addressed the nurse. "I'm looking for my son, Dean. I heard he was brought up here for surgery."

* * *

Jess watched the color drain out of Sam's face.

"Dad?" he whispered.

"Sam." John acknowledged his son with a barely visible tip of his head, but no other outward reaction.

Sam folded his arms around himself, shoulders slumped. He was still clinging to Dean's clipboard of paperwork.

Jess frowned as she watched her fiancé. _This is the father he hasn't seen in three years? Not even a handshake?_

His face blank, Sam's eyes darted around the room as he gaped like a lost fish. Jess inched closer to Sam, feeling protective of him despite her earlier annoyance.

"How did you know Dean was here?" The worried wrinkle in Sam's wide forehead peeked out beneath his bangs. Jess reached a tentative hand in Sam's direction and he grasped her fingers in his like a drowning man.

"Heard a report of an abandoned Impala on the police scanner. I knew your brother would never leave that car, so I did a little digging." He tipped his head at Jess. "And who might this be?"

Sam's head was down, hair in his eyes. "Dad, this is Jessica Moore, my girlfriend. Jess, this is my father, John."

Jess pressed her lips together, stung that Sam hadn't introduced her as his fiancée. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester," she squeaked out, and John returned the handshake without a word.

The grumpy nurse cleared her throat. "Touching as all this is, Dean Winchester needs to authorize surgery or we're going to have to release him."

Both Sam and John moved toward the swinging doors, Jess tailing after them. The nurse blocked their path. "Only one of you can go back."

The Winchester men stared at each other and Jess could feel the tension radiating from Sam. It was obvious that he didn't want John involved in making Dean's medical decisions, but she wasn't clear on why.

"Sam," John said, taking the clipboard out of his son's hands, "this doesn't concern you." He nodded at the nurse.

Sam bodily blocked the swinging doors, his large frame preventing anyone from moving forward. "No, Dad. Let me handle this."

John raised an eyebrow at Sam. "What?"

Sam's face pinched in, contorted in defiant anger. "My family works here," he said, and Jess felt a surge of pride. He bit his lip and stared at John. "Your insurance isn't good here."

John nodded. "Then we'll get him taken care of somewhere else." He tipped his head at the nurse a second time, but once again, Sam threw himself in front of them, blocking their path.

"No, Dad, you won't. I know you. You'll try to reset his arm on your own. Just like last time." Jess felt her own face pale and the nurse's expression shifted from annoyed to concerned. Both women stared at the Winchester men. "He needs the surgery," Sam continued, defiantly. "He could lose use of that arm."

"Samuel." John's voice was cold and deep. "This is neither the time nor the place."

"And that's where you're wrong, Dad," Sam argued, his voice rising. "This is exactly the time. Dean needs you to make the best decisions for him when he can't. Not what's convenient for you or what's least expensive!"

Sam's words rang in the air like a punch. John looked like he might hit Sam, and Jess found herself backing away. The nurse scurried over to the receptionist on duty, no doubt looking to call security.

Nostrils flaring, Sam refused to turn his back to John. He ripped the clipboard from his father's hands, signed his name on the line reading "responsible party", shoved the paperwork at the nurse, and barged through the swinging doors.


	6. Chapter 6

As always, not mine, don't own, save Mrs. Blevins and a few potted plants. My thanks to Fanpire101 for all of her beta reader greatness. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

I appreciate the comments from Book girl fan, otp-fandomfeels, MarbleWolf, Fanpire101, and Guest on the previous chapter. My thanks to everyone who has followed or favorited this story. I have chapter 7 half-finished, and I think I'll need at least ten chapters total to round things out. But we shall see! This was supposed to be a one-shot. :)

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own._

* * *

The door to the surgical wing opened with a clunk. Jess jerked forward in her seat, startled out of her rapidly spiraling negative thoughts, as Sam shuffled into the waiting area. Broad shoulders slumped, the tall man didn't appear to see her. Sam moved forward slowly, as if his feet were mired in wet cement. She tried to read his expression, but his chestnut bangs hid his downturned face. After he collapsed into the nearest chair, Sam curled into himself and covered his eyes with one large hand.

Jess's heart began to pound. She'd never seen Sam look so defeated, not even after a full week of finals at Stanford. She rushed to stand by him. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she squeezed lightly and asked, "Hey, Baby. How is he?"

Sam jerked at the touch, but when he realized it was Jess, he sat up properly and raised his head to meet her gaze. She swallowed hard at his unguarded expression. His hazel eyes reflected a depth of pain that she couldn't begin to understand.

Her own eyes filled with sympathy tears. "He's not-"

Sam blinked. "No," he replied, wiping his damp cheeks with the back of one wrist. "He's good, Jess. Dean's gonna be fine." He drew her small hand into his. "They just took him back for surgery."

Sam's cat-like eyes narrowed further as they swept around the small waiting area. It was empty now apart from the two of them and the elderly receptionist manning the desk. Jess watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed in response before he pulled away from her.

"Dad left," he bit out. It wasn't a question.

Jess nodded. "He said to tell you good-bye and that he'd touch base with Dean in a week or two."

Sam chuckled quietly, his laughter hollow and forced. "Of course, he did."

Her fiancé - _or maybe he's just my boyfriend now, based on what he told his father?_ \- stood and began to pace around the lobby. Sam clenched and unclenched his fists as he stormed about, swearing under his breath. Jess caught " _never there when you need him_ " and "asshole" before he stalked over to an aged vending machine and punched it so hard that the clear plastic cover cracked.

His palpable anger made Jess wonder at the man she had agreed to marry. _Who is Sam Winchester, anyway? The quiet, polite, pre-law student I met in a painting class? Or a violent former criminal, on the run from his family of thieving murderers?_ Jess thought of the grisly, bloodstained weapons she'd caught a glimpse of beneath the false trunk of the Impala, and gulped. _Maybe a combination of the two?_

The truly frightening part was that, without Dean dropping unexpectedly into their lives, Jess might never have seen this side of Sam. She could have walked down the aisle never knowing about his ability to compartmentalize his life. That thought scared her more than she dared to admit.

 _Sam hid his anger about his family all this time and I never suspected. I thought he'd put his past behind him, but clearly, that isn't the case._

She glanced over to where Sam stood cradling his fist. He leaned on the damaged vending machine, seemingly staring with intent at a row of unpurchased candy bars. Tears glistened in his eyes. Jess felt a wrenching tug at her heart.

 _It isn't fair to judge Sam based on his family, is it?_ _After all, he's gotten away from them. He's put himself through school for the last three years without any contact._

Jess thought about her alcoholic brother. _Would I want Sam to think I was just like James? Drinking daily, driving while intoxicated, barely able to avoid jail, unable to hold a job, in and out of rehab? Wouldn't I be angry if James just showed up out of the blue and demanded my attention?_

"Sam," Jess called as she walked toward her boyfriend. "We need to talk."

* * *

 _Of course, we need to talk_ , Sam thought bitterly. He fought back the urge to punch the vending machine again, his right knuckles still stinging. He scrubbed at his temples with his left hand in an attempt to rid himself of a rapidly brewing headache. Sighing deeply, he dropped into the nearest chair.

 _Jess knows. She's seen too much, she knows how screwed up I am. She's never gonna want to be a Winchester now. This is it. She's gonna break up with me. I can't even blame her. This craziness is why I left for Stanford in the first place._

Sam steeled his features and waited for Jess to deliver the final blow. When she walked up to him and placed both palms flat against his chest without speaking, Sam was caught off-guard. With him seated and Jess standing, they were nearly eye to eye.

He met her gaze, expecting pity or contempt. But he read neither in her wide blue-grey eyes. Without a word, Jess managed to convey equal measures of compassion and worry, along with the expected doses of confusion and fear. She slid her hands across his pectoral muscles and grabbed tight to both arms.

"I love you, Sam Winchester, and I want to be here for you. But you have to tell me what's going on." Jess lowered her voice and leaned closer. "Why does your brother have a bloody machete in his trunk? Does your father commit medical insurance fraud? Is that why you left home? I need to know the truth about your family."

Sam lowered his eyes and sighed. "We do need to talk. But not here." He glanced meaningfully across the room to the receptionist, who appeared to be engrossed in a large-print edition of _Readers' Digest_.

Jess grabbed his hand and Sam winced and jerked his fingers back. "Sorry," she said, reaching for his hand more gently. Sam allowed her to inspect his reddened knuckles. Holding his large hand between her two smaller ones, Jess gently manipulated his fingers. "I know you don't want to talk about this here, but this is about as private as we're going to get this summer. Mrs. Blevins over there is hard of hearing anyway."

Sam nodded. The old lady hadn't even flinched when he'd attacked the helpless vending machine. They walked together, Sam's right hand still cradled in Jessica's delicate fingers, over to the side of the room furthest from the desk. Large potted ferns dominated the corners of the room. A long wooden table ran along the wall, holding a coffee maker, a few mismatched and chipped mugs, packets of sweetener, and a plate of stale cookies. The air smelled of burnt coffee.

Jess and Sam sat side-by-side, close to a bank of windows. The young blond woman carefully inspected Sam's swollen knuckles a second time. "I don't think you've broken anything, despite your best efforts." She gave him a small grin and dropped his hand. He responded with a forced smile. "But I'm going to get you a wrap and some ice just in case."

Before Sam could protest that he was fine, Jess had darted over to Mrs. Blevins and started to sweet-talk her out of an ice pack and a compression wrap. As Sam watched, he tried to think of the best way to explain to Jess about the family business. He'd told her vague stories in the past about Dean and his vagabond lifestyle, his brother's penchant for hustling pool, and his ability to charm women, but he'd left out the salient parts about hunting monsters, breaking and entering, desecrating graves, and committing credit card fraud. He hadn't even mentioned Dad apart from saying that he was estranged from his father and that he really didn't want to talk about it. Jess had respected his boundaries and never pried, even though he knew she was curious.

Sam looked longingly at his beautiful girlfriend. She stood impatiently at the reception desk in her tank top and jeans, long blond waves bouncing as she fidgeted foot to foot. She looked back over her shoulder at him and winked, giving him a saucy grin to cheer him up.

 _It isn't fair. She deserves the truth._ Anger welled within him. _But I've given up so much! I shouldn't have to give up the one good thing in my life._ The thought of losing Jess made Sam sick to his stomach.

Jess was still smiling at him as she walked back. Sam found himself blinking again at the sudden wetness in his eyes.

 _Gone soft, boy._ He could hear John Winchester's gruff voice in his head. The man's sudden appearance had shaken forth scores of suppressed memories about Sam's life before Stanford: training exercises at dawn, cold meals in the car, head lice from filthy bedding, second-hand clothes that smelled musty and never quite fit right...

Sam didn't realize that he was shaking until Jess stilled his arms by wrapping herself around him where he sat. "Sam. It's gonna be okay," she whispered.

He shook his head as she sat down next to him and began to wrap his sore hand. "I don't even know where to begin," he admitted. She fastened the end of the elastic wrap and placed the cold gel pack over his covered knuckles.

Jessica took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tell me why your brother carries all of those illegal weapons in his trunk. You said he was a hunter. What is he hunting?"

"Monsters," Sam replied softly. At her startled look, he repeated himself. "My family hunts monsters, Jess. That's the family business."


	7. Chapter 7

As always, not mine, don't own.

My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta-reading this for me. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

I appreciate the comments from Book girl fan, otp-fandomfeels, and Guest on the previous chapter. Thanks also to everyone who's been reading along.

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own._

* * *

"Monsters?" Jess echoed, eyes darting furtively into the darkened corners of the hospital. "You mean like child molesters and murderers?" she whispered.

Sam held her gaze. "No. Monsters like werewolves and ghosts." He rubbed his uninjured hand absentmindedly against his jean-clad leg, right over the place where the Black Dog had clawed him when he was fourteen.

Jess' eyes caught the gesture and Sam dropped his hand self-consciously. She knew about the scar. Of course she'd asked, but he'd never been able to fully convince her it was from a skateboarding accident.

Jessica touched her fingertips to his left thigh. "Is that how you got this scar?" she asked softly. "Hunting 'monsters'?" He could hear the skepticism in her voice.

Sam engulfed her tiny hand with his large one and nodded. Jess bit her lip. She didn't look convinced.

Sam's head began to pound. Dad's teachings echoed through his mind: _Always cover your injuries, boys. Never let anyone see your scars._

He knew Jess wondered about his past. His former life dictated his collegiate clothing choices: multiple layers, no shorts, no short-sleeved shirts. Even today, when he'd come home from the optical shop and changed into jeans, he'd added a flannel over his T-shirt.

Dad's voice sounded a warning in his head. _Never answer their questions directly. Civilians don't understand._

"Sam," Jess said, her voice gentle and placating. "Monsters aren't real. You know that, right?" She shook her head. "Your dad, your brother ... they're mentally ill, Sam."

The former hunter sighed and stood up, dropping the ice pack and pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand. "I think we should discuss this later, Jess."

She frowned and pushed him back into a chair. "Sit. I'll get you some aspirin." Jess leaned down to pick up the cold pack, then replaced it over his swollen knuckles.

Sam felt too weary to argue. He threw his left arm over his eyes and concentrated on breathing through the pain.

"What do you want to drink?" Her voice was soft, in deference to his headache.

Sam peeked out from under his long fingers. "A Coke, I guess?"

She squeezed his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Sam could feel himself falling into post-adrenaline fatigue. Sitting with his eyes closed, the tension he'd been feeling lessened fractionally until he abruptly realized that he was in danger of falling asleep.

With Dean still in surgery.

Sam's eyes popped open, and even beneath his arm, the fluorescent lights shot daggers through his skull. He bit back a whimper.

 _Could this day get any worse?_

A cold soda was pressed into his free hand and he felt Jess's fingers stroking his cheek.

"Shh. Keep your eyes closed. I checked; Dean's still in surgery. They had to call in a hand and wrist surgeon." As Sam's shoulders stiffened, Jess rubbed his back. "It's okay, Sam. Mrs. Blevins said it's standard procedure for an injury like that."

She pressed the two tablets to his lips. "Take these, all right? And just rest a bit. I'm here, Sam."

 _For how much longer?_ Sam tried to slow his racing thoughts. He needed to have a real conversation with Jess; he had to convince her that he and his family weren't insane. But he could only tackle one problem at a time right now, and for now, that problem had to be Dean.

Or rather, it should be Dean. Instead, this headache was making it hard for Sam to concentrate on anyone or anything else. He opened his mouth and downed the tablets with a gulp of soda.

"What else did she say?" he asked, forcing his eyes to focus on the young woman sitting next to him.

Jess pressed her legs closer to his and stroked the wrinkles out of his brow. "Baby, they're doing all they can."

Sam blinked, trying to shove the pain aside long enough to focus on her words. "What does that mean?" he asked, voice tight. He moved to stand. "I need to talk -"

Jess tugged him down. "No, you don't. I got as much out of her as she could tell me and the surgeons are busy. Dean has vascular injuries, Sam. They're considering the best way to repair them." She gave him a gentle, one-handed hug. "I was wrong. You were right to fight with your father over this."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. A tear slid down his cheek as relief and exhaustion warred with pain and worry. He nodded, opening his eyes to her concerned look.

"Okay."

* * *

Swimming through a sea of fog ... a lighthouse blaring repetitively as its spotlight washed over his face ... the soft murmuring of voices, someone calling for him ... the feel of a strong hand in his.

 _Sammy_.

Dean attempted to open his eyes, but the brightness blinded him. He must have croaked out something similar, because the light level abruptly dropped by half. His eyes cracked open to scan the small room. _White walls._ His nose twitched. _Antiseptic._ Sam by his bedside. _Hospital._

Sam squeezed his hand once, warm and reassuring. "Hey, Dean." The older brother pulled away and attempted to sit. When he tried to push himself up by the arms, a searing pain bolted through his right wrist and he had to breathe through the agony so he didn't cry out. Both of Sammy's hands were on him now, gently pushing him back against the pillows. "Easy, Dean. You just had surgery on that arm."

Dean tried to recall why and came up blank. The fear must have shown on his face, because Sam replied, "You were in a car accident. The Impala hit a deer, remember? And, before you ask, I've got a number for the tow truck and a shop in mind for the repair. I'll call them both as soon as they open this morning."

The older brother's eyes slid closed in relief. "G'd sh'p?" he mumbled.

Dean could hear Sam's bitch face in his reply. "Yes, it's a good shop, Dean. I wouldn't leave your car with just anybody."

"Oh, 'kay." It was hard to keep putting his thoughts into words. But he and Baby would be all right. That was what mattered. And Sammy was here by his side. "Dad?" Dean queried.

There was hesitation from the young man seated beside him, long enough that Dean opened his bleary eyes. "He was here, Dean." Sam looked both lost and angry. "He and I ... uh ... well, we kinda disagreed on your care." Sam flashed a grim smile that didn't reach his dimples. "So, you're stuck with me for awhile."

"Wha'?" Dean had so many questions, but he was barely awake and he couldn't possibly articulate them all. Or any of them, actually.

"Go to sleep, Dean." Sam patted him awkwardly. "I'll be here when you wake up."

* * *

Sam watched anxiously until his older brother's features relaxed and fell slack. Only then did he stand up, crack his back, and pace around the small recovery room and into the hall. The wall clock by the nurses' station read just past three, and a yawn slipped out of Sam's mouth before he could stop it. He returned to his brother's room and had no idea how long he stood there, watching Dean sleep, before a nurse peeked her head in.

"Did you and your brother have a nice talk?" she whispered.

Sam chuckled and replied softly, "He won't remember any of it, but yeah." The weary man dropped heavily back onto the chair beside the bed as she assessed her patient.

"He's coming along fine," she said as she finished. "We'll get him up to a room soon." Her scrutinizing gaze fell on Sam. "How's your headache?"

Sam hadn't realized that he was massaging his forehead until her words drew attention to his actions. He dropped his left hand into his lap. "Fine," he lied. At her frown, he amended, "I'm just tired."

"And your hand?" She gave him a gentle smile as he murmured that he was all right. "Trying to compete with your brother, I see."

He raised a corner of his mouth at her attempt at levity, and she patted him on the shoulder.

"Let's see if we can get you into a nice room with one of those newfangled guest chairs. I hear they're pretty comfy. And I'll bring you some extra blankets."

Sam nodded. It took him a minute to realize that he had resumed grinding his fist into his eyes.

"I'm going to grab a couple of Tylenol for you, too. Okay, sweetie?"

He blinked up at the unexpected endearment, but the woman had already left the room. Sam sighed. In his mind, he could hear his father's incessant disapproval with every action he took.

 _Why'd you let her see you like that? You're such a pansy, boy._

Sam cradled his head, trying to shield himself from the onslaught of mental criticism. He missed Jess. He'd taken her home after the surgeon had come out to tell them that Dean would be fine. There were significant details to pore over later - broken bones, vascular repair - but Dean would be okay. Sam had all of the pamphlets he could ever hope to read on wrist injuries and a number to contact for physical rehabilitation. He felt a sense of irony as he held on to them with his own bandaged right hand. Dean was going to hate rehab - his brother despised hospitals - but Sam intended to hold him to it.

 _A real man wouldn't need rehab. You tryin' to make your brother go soft like you?_

The pain in Sam's head ratcheted up a notch and he found himself swallowing the extra saliva that came just before vomiting. _Oh shit._ A whimper escaped his lips as he closed his eyes.

Sam began to rock back and forth in the chair, fighting for control of his digestive tract. _Not here, not now, not here, not now._ He didn't realize that he was mumbling the words aloud.

Spiking pain lanced both eye sockets as Dad's voice reached a crescendo of sneering condescension in his mind. _Always the drama queen. What the fuck is wrong with you now? This isn't about you, boy._

"S'mmy." Dean's voice broke through the haze of nausea and pain. "Sammy, what's wrong?" A fumbling hand reached for him, and Sam clasped it between his own two trembling hands. Dean fingered the compression wrap over Sam's knuckles. "What did'ja do to your hand?"

Sam couldn't answer; he was too wrapped up in trying not to throw up. _Too bright, too loud._ The squeak of the nurse's shoes sent spikes of pain through his head as she re-entered the room.

"Hey, my brother's hurt. You need to help him." Sam could feel the tension in Dean's good hand and he felt guilty for putting it there.

Sam felt a cool hand on his forehead that wasn't his brother's. "Sam, can you hear me?" He nodded under her fingers. "Is your headache worse?" He nodded again, feeling weak. _Not weak. Pathetic, worthless, lazy, useless._ A moan escaped his lips.

"Is he okay?"

Sam wanted to reassure Dean, but he didn't want to puke on his brother either. He settled for nodding, hoping that Dean could see him. He couldn't open his eyes to console him without throwing up from the light.

"Is your brother prone to migraines, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam nodded beneath the nurse's ministrations as Dean fumbled for an answer.

"I dunno? He used to get bad headaches as a kid and sometimes he threw up. Usually after a fight with our ... oh, Sammy."

Dean squeezed Sam's nearest hand, but unfortunately, that was the one with the bruised knuckles. Sam winced audibly.

"Can you check out his hand, too?"

After an indeterminate amount of time where Sam simply coped with the pain and Dean murmured soothing words, Sam finally received an injection of Toradol and a promise that he'd be getting an X-ray of his hand after a proper rest. The brothers were moved upstairs into Dean's new hospital room. Both the nurse and Dean insisted that Sam take the adjacent bed and get some actual sleep.

Sam drifted off to the sound of the nurse lecturing Dean that he needed his rest too. Then the light blissfully diminished, and both Winchester brothers finally fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

I appreciate the fine beta skills of Fanpire101 - thanks for all of your help! Any timeline errors, mistakes, or deviations from canon are all on me.

My thanks to everyone who has taken the time to favorite or follow this story. I'm going to need a few more chapters to tie this one up.

I'm just borrowing the Winchester boys for fun and not profit. I own nothing, except maybe Lorna and I'm not sure I want her.

Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own._

* * *

Jess squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before walking through the hospital's main entrance doors. Her father had dropped her off this morning, on his way to yet another meeting with the board of directors, leaving Jess prey to the curious eyes of the Information Desk. Doctor Moore might instill respect and a healthy dose of fear amongst his staff, but his candy striper daughter did not. With Dean's dramatic arrival, rumors were sure to have spread throughout the tiny hospital.

 _Of course, it has to be Lorna, queen of gossip, on duty today._

The woman embodied the phrase "sees all, hears all, knows all, tells all," and Jess just knew she'd have the dirt on their latest patient. Dean was young and attractive, two things sure to pique the woman's interest.

Jess found her steps faltering the closer she drew to the bubbly brunette. _How can I answer any questions about Dean? He's either crazy or a dangerous vigilante. Probably both._

As for being her future brother-in-law, Jess didn't quite know how to answer that question either. Discovering so much new information about her fiancé had left Jess reeling. And her mom wasn't helping matters any. She'd cornered Jess in the wee hours of the morning to give her daughter the "talk": _"You know we love Sam, sweetie. He seems like a nice boy. But what do we really know about him?"_

 _Not as much as I thought_ , Jess lamented, bracing herself for the onslaught of Lorna. The woman didn't disappoint. The glint in her eye matched the grin she was trying to suppress.

"Hey, Jess, darlin'. Your boys are on the third floor." The older woman leaned in, conspiratorially. "That Dean's quite the looker. Too bad he's more scarred up than an alley cat. Young man like that ain't nothin' but trouble. I should know!" She cackled heartily as Jess flinched. This was so not news she wanted getting back to her father. _What if he asks about Sam and whether he has similar scars?_

"I hear that boy done tried to steal salt packets and knives from the food cart," Lorna blabbed, clucking her tongue. "Lord knows what he wanted to do with them. It's no wonder your boy had a panic attack over it."

"What?" Jess blinked. _Sam had a panic attack? Surely not. I mean, he did seem upset when he dropped me off last night, but he said he was fine._ Jess swore internally.

Lorna shook her curls, mock sadness fighting with glee at serving gossip to its source. "Poor thing. I guess the stress of seeing his brother hurt caught up to him. He was having trouble breathing, ya know."

Jess didn't know. She swallowed hard and tried not to follow in Sam's footsteps and pass out herself. She gave a slight nod to the woman, which Lorna took as her cue to continue.

"His brother and Rune - you know, the string bean from the night shift - talked him down but then Sam started throwin' up. Couldn't keep nothin' down." Lorna looked up, doe-eyed. Jess fought the urge to punch the false sympathy off her face.

"I'm so sorry, doll," she cooed, laying a hand on Jess' tense shoulder. "They had to hook your boy up to an IV and sedate him." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Poor thing."

Jess closed her eyes, fighting a myriad of warring emotions as she thought of her calm, strong boyfriend. Amid the churning fear, confusion, anger, and worry, one thought boiled to the top. Her eyes popped open.

 _This isn't like Sam! He never panics about anything. Why didn't anyone call me? What the hell is going on?_

Wrenching herself away, Jess gave Lorna a terse nod and stormed toward the bank of elevators.

The older woman called after her in a saccharine-sweet voice. "Room 343, darlin'!"

* * *

Jess wasn't certain what she expected to find when she pushed open the door to room 343, but it wasn't this. In the dim light seeping around the closed blinds, she could barely make out two hospital beds. The cot closest to the door was empty, crumpled covers pushed back and skimming the ground. Dean sat by the second bed, casted right arm bound tight to his chest in a sling. His left hand, despite being tethered to an IV pole by a snake of plastic tubing, carded through the overly-long hair of the room's other occupant. A low moan sounded from the prone man as he fussed in his sleep. Jess recognized that note of distress.

 _Sam._

Her breath caught, and Dean's head snapped up. His eyes locked on her where she stood frozen in the doorway. The white bandages on his forehead took on a eerie glow in the half-light. Jess took a step forward, but stopped when Dean bared his teeth, scowling. Cat-like, he was on his feet in an instant, pulling at his IV pole like a kitten might tug along a ball of yarn. He made a shooing motion with his uninjured hand. Jess wrinkled her forehead in perplexion. Dean rolled his eyes and nodded, indicating they both should go. He followed her out, making sure to close the door behind them with a soft snick.

They had barely entered the hallway when he rounded on her. "What do you want?"

"I came to check on you and found out Sam had been admitted," Jess replied, irritation coloring her tone. "I need to see him."

Dean shook his head. "Not now." He turned back toward the door. "Come back tomorrow."

It was a dismissal. Jess couldn't believe it. She grabbed the man's shoulder without thinking.

The effect was immediate. Dean whirled, malice in his eyes, his left fist raised with the IV trailing out of it. He lowered his hand. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

Jess knew she should feel guilty about jostling his injured arm, but she hadn't grabbed him that hard. And he was keeping her from seeing Sam.

She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. "I said, I'm going to see my fiancé." She stepped forward to pass Dean, but his hand shot out and clamped onto her arm.

"And I said no," Dean snarled back.

Dean and Jess stared each other down in the brightly lit hallway until an older man in a white coat walked by. He paused at the unexpected tableau. "Good morning, Jess," he said, his tone deliberately light. "Everything okay here?"

Dean dropped Jess' arm.

"Fine," she bit out, never breaking eye contact with Dean.

The older man nodded. "Good." Facing Dean, he added, "You shouldn't be out of bed. You need to rest." It sounded like an order.

Dean scowled as the man left to continue his rounds. Jess watched as a flush spread across Dean's cheeks and he broke eye contact with her. Embarrassment in the face of weakness reminded her of Sam, and Jess felt her heart soften.

Now that the doctor had pointed it out, Dean didn't look so good. He appeared drawn, face unnaturally pale with deep purple bags under his eyes. She thought to inquire if he was all right, but suspected that it wouldn't go over well. "What's wrong with Sam?" she asked instead.

Dean's gravelly voice replied, "Had a rough night." He paused to look back at the closed door. "Just got him back to sleep right before you barged in."

Jess thought of the giddy report she had received from Lorna - _Your boy had a panic attack!_ \- and wondered exactly what had transpired the night before. _How bad did things get?_

The question died on her lips when a tremble shuddered through Dean. The doctor was right. Dean shouldn't be on his feet, unsteady in a thin cotton gown. Yet, she still needed answers.

"There's an alcove over there," Jess said, pointing. "We can sit down and talk."

His gaze flicked rapidly between her and the door to room 343, as if gauging how long it would take him to bolt back to Sam's side. The gesture struck her as odd. Dean acted like an overprotective parent, which did fit with the little Sam had told her about his childhood. _But where has he been all this time? Fighting "monsters"?_

"All right," he conceded. "But only for a minute."

They made their way down the hallway and into the recessed seating area. Dean eased himself slowly into a sitting position. Jess found a seat in the bank of chairs opposite him.

The silence stretched thin between them.

"So," Jess ventured, wracking her brain in an attempt to restart the conversation. "I heard Sam had a panic attack."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Migraine." How he managed to convey condescension wearing a pale yellow gown with green polka dot hearts, she had no idea.

"Triggered by stress," Jess added softly, and Dean's face sobered. He nodded but didn't add anything.

"Usually," she said, then faltered. Sam wouldn't like her talking about this, even to his brother. "Usually, if he takes aspirin or Tylenol right away, it stops his headaches and they don't get this bad." When Dean didn't reply, she added, "He was okay when he drove me home. He had a headache then but I didn't know it was that bad." She chanced an earnest look at Dean and admitted, "I wouldn't have left him if I'd known." Dropping her gaze, Jess picked at a worn spot on the seat. "He got like this once at Stanford, during finals. He kept throwing up from the pain." Her voice wavered when she added, "They said it was a migraine and gave him a prescription for it, but he never filled it. He told me the doctors were wrong; he doesn't get migraines."

"Just bad headaches," Dean replied, and Jess looked up at him in surprise.

"Yes, that's exactly what he said."

Dean sighed and Jess wondered what he was leaving unspoken. She was surprised to hear him elaborate.

"When he gets a headache this bad, even the good meds don't do much. He's gotta sleep it off. But the nurses kept going in and out all night, fussin' at me, waking him up. Then he got worse and started throwing up and then they started fussing at him too." Dean looked at his free hand, swollen from the IV line. "Whole damn night was a disaster."

Jess reached out before she could think better of it. The skin of Dean's forearm above the IV port felt cold, and she could feel a slight tremor running through him. "You okay?" The words tumbled from her mouth involuntarily.

He swallowed and nodded as he pulled back, looking faintly green. "Peachy," he replied, locking eyes with her before his gaze returned to the door. "I gotta get back."

A surge of intuition hit and Jess realized that Dean was fighting hard not to throw up in front of her. She wondered if he'd been taking his pain medication and suspected not. _Just like his brother._

She could see definite parallels between Sam and Dean Winchester, a heavy imprint left by their primary caregiver: _Never show weakness. Don't trust anyone. Never ask for help._

Jess felt a surge of cold fury toward the distant man she had met in the waiting room the night before. _What kind of father does that to his children?_

She stood up and nodded at Dean. "You're right. We do need to get back."

Clearly, Dean was not expecting this response. "We?" he parroted.

He stood slowly, uneasily, to face her, his posture reminding Jess that he had broken ribs in addition to his more visible injuries. She could see him struggling to school his features into a blank mask, fighting hard to hide the pain, nausea, and fatigue.

"There's no "we" here. I'm staying with Sam. You can come back tomorrow, after he's gotten some sleep." Dean fought a yawn.

Jess returned a raised eyebrow and chanced another touch to his quivering arm. "You need to rest too," she reminded him, firmly but not unkindly. "Doctor Miller said so." At his skeptical look, she added, "You can't help Sam if you don't take care of yourself." When Dean didn't immediately object, she added, "I'm going to sit with both of you for awhile so you can get some sleep too." She gave his good arm a gentle squeeze. "I know you hate this, but you're gonna have to trust me. I volunteer here, so I know who to talk to. I can keep the nurses out of your room."

Jess could feel it then, a slight dip under her fingers as he relaxed fractionally, and she knew she'd finally reached him. She wasn't surprised when he nodded.

"Yeah, okay." The resignation in his voice was audible.

She walked down the hall alongside Dean, careful not to hover as he pushed his IV pole. Slowly, carefully, Jess and Dean crept their way back to Sam.


	9. Chapter 9

My thanks to Fanpire101 for betaing this for me and helping me to figure out where to break the chapter. I'm going to have Dean bring you a nice slice of pie when he's feeling better. Any remaining errors are mine. My thanks also to PharmTech for the comment on the last chapter, and my appreciation to everyone who has favorited or followed so far.

I own nothing. Except maybe Jess' dad. And I haven't quite decided how I feel about him. Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own_.

* * *

Dr. Thomas Moore prided himself on being a reasonable man, despite what everyone around him seemed to think. Some of his hospital employees might say he was a bit harsh. Blunt even. Dr. Moore shrugged away the criticism. He called it like he saw it.

And right now, as he pushed his way into room 343 after another boring day of meetings, he didn't like what he saw. His only daughter, his baby girl, sat slumped asleep in an uncomfortable-looking chair between two bickering young men. The Winchester brothers - one defiant and sneering, the other angry and exasperated - were hissing and posturing at each other like rabid dogs.

The older boy - _Dean, the scarred salt thief_ \- had clearly ripped out his IV. Dr. Moore could see swelling and a thin line of dried blood near the former point of venous entry. If any of his staff had done that, he'd tan their hides. The disheveled man wore an unbuttoned shirt over too-long checkered pajama bottoms that Dr. Moore vaguely recognized as Sam's. Or perhaps the brothers had similar taste in lumberjack clothing. A weathered flannel shirt hung loosely over the top of the man's newly repaired right arm. The cumbersome cast went up past his elbow and was strapped tightly to his chest with a sling. He was attempting to lace up his boots one-handed, without much success. Dr. Moore marveled that the man was moving around at all - he wasn't due to be discharged for another day at least.

The younger one - _Sam, vending machine vandal and potential daughter stealer_ \- held his brother's good arm in a vice grip. His other wrist was wrapped in an elastic bandage. The younger man's face, drawn and pale, reflected a night impacted by migraine and/or a panic attack, depending upon the source of your hospital gossip.

Dr. Moore had read his chart: _Migraine, probable panic attack. Refer for neuro-psych eval for migraines, possible PTSD. Sprained right wrist, mild. Mild metacarpophalangeal sprains of right index and ring fingers._ And a special note: _Do not allow John Winchester access to the third floor under any circumstances._

He wondered if Sam had been told that his father now came with a warning label. He'd have to ask if that instruction originated with Dean, Sam, one of his hospital staff, or his own daughter. Dr. Moore knew that Sam had been discharged earlier that day with instructions to rest and reduce his stress levels.

Clearly, the boy had paid no attention to these orders. Sam appeared to be attempting some sort of mind meld with his older brother using his best lost puppy imitation. The fact that both Winchesters had botched up their right wrists and wound up admitted into his hospital at the same time led the older man to wonder about the strength of that connection. It reminded him of why he had come here in the first place.

"And how are we today, gentlemen?" Dr. Moore boomed into the small space, pleased when both brothers jumped.

His daughter stirred and popped open one slate blue eye as she stretched. Still half-asleep, she replied, "Hi, Daddy." He smiled fondly in her direction before facing the two miscreants.

Sam dropped his brother's arm and used his free hand to smooth back his unruly mop of hair. "Uh, hi Dr. Moore." He gestured at the other bed. "This is my brother, Dean."

"I figured as much." The older man held out a hand to the more injured of the two. Dean had to let go of his shoelaces to awkwardly return the handshake with his left hand. Dr. Moore caught a glimpse of amusement on Sam's face, to which Dean returned a slight growl.

"Am I interrupting something?" the doctor asked dryly.

Sam swallowed, waving his free hand. "No, sir. Dean was just—"

"Leaving," Dean interrupted. He stood up, forcing the doctor to take a step back as the injured man wobbled slightly on his feet. Dr. Moore stopped just short of placing a hand on the boy's elbow to steady him.

"Dean," Sam admonished. "The body shop isn't even done with the Impala yet. And you haven't been properly discharged."

Dean's green eyes narrowed. "I don't need to be here, racking up medical expenses. I'm fine."

Dr. Moore cut his eyes to Jess, who rolled her own back at him, shook her head, and shrugged. Clearly, she'd already had this argument with the man.

"You can't travel like this, Dean," Sam implored, waving his arms to encompass his brother's surgically altered wrist, taped up forehead, and broken ribs. The wrinkle between Sam's hazel eyes deepened. "You need rest."

 _So do you_ , Dr. Moore thought, but didn't say.

"I'm not stayin' at your girlfriend's parents' house, Sam."

Dr. Moore blinked. That was precisely the reason he had come to visit the boys. The background checks he'd had his friends in law enforcement run on the Winchesters had turned up some odd hits on Dean. He wasn't even sure he wanted Sam in his house anymore. _Grave desecration? Breaking and entering into a morgue?_ Sure, the charges were later dropped but he'd be damned if he'd lose his baby girl to a cult.

"I'm afraid Dean is right. We don't have the room to accommodate him," Dr. Moore agreed, nodding his head at Sam with mock sadness, arms folded.

"Dad!" Jess chided, standing up to face him. "We have plenty of—"

"We'll rent a place for a few weeks until you're better," Sam interrupted, eyes on Dean. All three of the room's other occupants stared at him.

Jess barked out a surprised, "What?" at the same time Dean huffed a "Sam, I—"

"No, Dean. I did not sign on to pay for your surgery only to have you screw it up at the first opportunity!"

The older brother looked properly chastened at that and sat back down on his hospital bed.

"Sam, we need to talk about this," Jess fumed, arms crossed.

"I can help you find a suitable room to rent," Dr. Moore said, turning to Sam. "It would be less expensive than trying to find an apartment for the rest of the summer."

"Thank you, sir," Sam replied, running his left hand through his hair again before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sam!" Jess admonished. "You are not renting—"

"And we will need to postpone the engagement party, of course," Dr. Moore continued, interrupting Jess.

"Dad," his daughter all but growled. Dr. Moore held a hand up to forestall her, curious to see how the Winchester boys would react to this news.

"Of course," Sam murmured, rubbing his forehead now. If anything, he appeared even paler.

Dean's sullen eyes locked on the doctor. "No need for that. I wasn't—" an audible swallow — "plannin' on attendin' anyway." He gave his brother a meaningful glare and Sam dropped his gaze to the tile floor.

"Un-be-lievable." Jess paced slowly through the small room and shook her head at all three men. Once she stood near the door, she pointed at Dean. "You get in bed." Her finger moved on to Sam. "We need to talk." And a final jab at her father, "If you kick Sam and his brother out, I'm going with them." She then nabbed Sam by his elbow and tugged him out of the room.

* * *

Once in the hallway, Jess felt her anger evaporate when Sam put a hand to his eyes. He swallowed hard, beads of perspiration dotting his pale forehead.

"You okay?" she asked, knowing full well what the answer should be. She wondered what he would actually say.

Sam lowered his arm and she could see pain in the squint of his eyes. "I need to sit down," he admitted, and Jess exhaled a sigh of relief at his honesty. She led him over to the little alcove where she'd spoken with Dean earlier and made sure to seat him in the darkest corner.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get your meds and a soda." Sam leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

When Jess poked her head into Dean's room to grab her purse, a nurse was reinserting his IV line. Her father wasn't in the room.

"Hey, Fern." Jess greeted the older woman as she picked up her handbag from the visitor's chair. She could tell Dean was awake by the rigid set to his jaw, but he didn't open his eyes or acknowledge her.

"You need something, honey?" Fern asked.

"Just grabbing Sam's pills," she said, twisting her mouth in an unhappy line. "Headache's back."

As Fern clucked her sympathy, Dean's eyes opened and locked on Jess. "Sam okay?"

She nodded. "But it would be better if you stayed put for awhile. He can rest in your room till I can get things sorted out with my dad." It occurred to Jess that Sam would not like her coddling him in this way, but she pushed that thought aside.

Dean shrugged, then winced as the movement jostled his injured arm. Fern noticed and gave him a pat. "Nothing to sort. Your father and I had a little chat. We're in complete agreement." Before Jess could protest, Dean insisted, "I don't like him. He don't like me. He doesn't want me at his house. I don't wanna be there. He's finding a room for Sam and me right now. End of story."

"But—"

"You want Sam and your dad to get along, right?" His gaze pinned her down like the trapped insect that she was, and Jess wondered exactly when he'd gained the upper hand in this conversation.

"Yes, but—"

Fern excused herself from the room, and Dean gave his temper free reign. "Then quit your bitchin' already. I ain't stayin' 'round here any longer than I have to. You'll have Sam back before you know it."

"I'm going to stay with you and Sam," she declared.

"To do what?" Dean snorted. "I'm not stealing him from you, sweetheart. It's just gonna be for a few days, till I convince my worrywart of a little brother that I'm okay. But if you run off now, your dad's gonna get pissed. And he's gonna take it out on Sam." His voice softened. "And he ain't lookin' so hot."

Jess bit her lip and looked down at her purse. "I need to get these meds to him," she faltered.

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. She found herself warring between irritation and relief at the unspoken dismissal.


	10. Chapter 10

Fluffy chapter alert! If you are looking for another helping of angst, you might want to skip this chapter. However, if you - like me - enjoy Winchesters in glasses, I have just one thing to say: You're welcome.

My thanks to Fanpire101 for her beta reading goodness. Heal up quickly, my friend! My appreciation also to MarbleWolf and Kathy for your comments on the previous chapter.

I suspect I'm going to need another chapter or two to wrap this thing up. Should Jess and Sam stay together or break it off? I haven't entirely decided yet. Let me know what you think in the comments!

Not mine, don't own, save any remaining errors. Cross-posted at _Archive of Our Own_.

* * *

Sam rolled over on the uncomfortable mattress and stared at the flaking paint on the ceiling. True to his word, Dr. Moore had found Sam and Dean a place to stay. In fact, he'd actually secured them an entire basement apartment, and even paid for the first month's rent.

"It's the least I could do," he'd told the brothers, and Sam still didn't know if the man had been sincere or sarcastic. Possibly both. It was clear to Sam that Dr. Moore disliked Dean - Sam still wasn't sure exactly why. There could be an litany of reasons, unfortunately. Jess' father had chosen to put them up in a sketchy part of town away from anyone in his family's social circle. Not that Sam really minded, if he was being honest with himself. Staying in the Moores' well-apportioned home with both Jessica and Dean would have felt strange at best. At least here he could relax. Walking on eggshells at Jessica's parents' house had been exhausting.

Turning to the thorny topic of his girlfriend, Sam's brain conjured up an image of himself trying to walk across a pathway of eggs to Jess' doorstep. One by one, they cracked into goo under his oversized feet. This devolved into Sam remembering the only time he had gone out trick-or-treating with a group of kids from school. Several of them had decided it would be fun to go egging houses and Sam had gotten caught in the crossfire. When he'd finally dragged himself back to the motel, dripping egg yolk from his hair, Dean had laughed so hard that he shot soda out of his nose. Sam smiled at the memory.

He rolled to his side on the lumpy mattress. From his vantage point in the bedroom, Sam could watch Dean resting on the sofa. Between his ribs and his arm, his brother felt most comfortable sleeping upright. And the sofa, oversized and overstuffed, was actually more comfortable than this bed, not that Sam intended to tell Dean that.

Only a few hours out of the hospital and Dean was already complaining of boredom. Sam had dutifully fed him, made sure his brother took his pain medication, and put an old Western on the TV for background noise. Televised gunfire now mixed with his sibling's snoring. Sam found the familiar sounds soporific.

He had no idea how long he could keep his brother down. But, in the meantime, Sam would make sure that Dean took care of himself.

* * *

"So? What do you think?"

It was Sunday morning, and officially, Myers Optical was closed. Sam was thankful that Mr. Myers had entrusted him with a key, or else the Winchester brothers might have resorted to breaking into the joint. News of Dean's car accident had spread throughout the sleepy Oregon town. Sam had no desire to explain to his boss why Dean Winchester had pretended to be Dean Winters when he'd ordered glasses from his little brother. In Sam's opinion, the less Myers saw of Dean, the better.

Sam took a step back as his brother studied the empty optical shop through his new lenses. To the untrained observer, the older man might have appeared unaffected by the change in his eyesight. But Sam knew. He caught the slight dilation of Dean's green eyes, the quirk of his brother's lips as he fought to suppress an "o" of wonder, and the sheepish dip of his head.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "They're okay," he muttered, taking off the pair. "But they're makin' me kinda dizzy."

"You'll need to wear them for a few hours every day, Dean. Increase the time each day until they don't make you sick," Sam lectured.

Dean glared at his brother. "That's a load of crap and you know it."

Sam rolled his eyes and leveled a pissy face at his brother. He opened his mouth to argue, but Dean beat him to it.

"Besides," Dean said, placing the new glasses inside their case with an audible snap, "I don't need these during the day, anyway. Just at night, for hunts." Before Sam could protest, Dean added, "You had me get sunglasses for driving, remember?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Let me grab those from the back."

Dean chuckled.

Sam hurried to the rear of the store and ducked behind a heavy curtain. With so few orders coming in, it wasn't hard to find Dean's prescription sunglasses. Sam found the case and, succumbing to curiosity, slipped the dark lenses over his eyes. He peered around the storeroom, barely able to make anything out in the dim light. The strength of the glasses distorted what little Sam could see and his stomach lurched unpleasantly. He took off the sunglasses and blinked his eyes to clear them.

When Sam emerged from the storeroom, he caught Dean with his new glasses back on, an open look of wonder on his face. Sam couldn't help the soft smile that graced his features. But when Dean caught him staring, his older brother's ease slid away. Dean glowered at Sam as he shoved the glasses back into their case.

"Dude," Sam chided, handing Dean the small box containing his new sunglasses. "Chill out. You look fine."

His older brother struggled to pop the case open one-handed. Once he'd slid the sunglasses on, Dean frowned. "Damn, these are dark." He groped his way toward the windows, cursing when the sling protecting his right arm jostled against a swiveling rack of colorful kids' frames. Sam nabbed him by the opposite elbow and steered him toward the front of the store.

Standing beneath the blue awning just outside the door, Sam watched his brother lift the sunglasses up, only to replace them moments later and lift them up again.

Dean shrugged his left shoulder when he caught Sam studying him. "Yeah, these might come in handy." He took the sunglasses off.

"Dean." Sam waited until his big brother's wandering eyes met his own. "You don't have to pretend this isn't a big deal. I know how much you need them. I saw your prescription."

Dean scowled. "What're you sayin', Sammy? That I'm blind as a bat without 'em?" Dean put his new glasses back on with a flair. "What would you know anyway? They're just numbers on a piece of paper."

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Dean, I know what I'm talking about."

His brother lifted his eyebrows gingerly, due to the dual chains of stitches on his forehead. He still managed to convey a healthy dose of skepticism.

"I work in an optical shop!"

Dean simply stared at him.

"All right, fine." Sam sighed. He fidgeted in place as he ran his fingers through his long hair. "You're about a diopter more nearsighted than I am and I can't imagine trying to drive or hunt without my glasses." Sam's cheeks pinked at this admission.

"Since when do you need glasses?" Dean sounded both surprised and defensive.

Sam shrugged and answered calmly. "Since I got to Stanford and couldn't read the board in one of my classes." At Dean's incredulous look, he clarified, "I don't wear 'em much. But I would if I was driving. Or hunting."

Dean tutted at this. "Lemme get this straight. You're standin' here, lecturing me about wearin' glasses when you won't even wear your own?"

"Yes, but—"

"But what?"

"I don't really need them!" Sam could not, for the life of him, figure out how this conversation had gotten turned around on him.

"Only when you're reading the board, or driving, or hunting, or - I don't know - seeing in general?" Dean smirked.

"This isn't about me!" Sam all but yelled.

Dean lifted his uninjured shoulder. "Maybe it should be."

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Your glasses."

"Dean, this is ridiculous." Sam looked away and ducked back into the optical shop. "I don't have even have them on me." He turned back to glare at his brother. "Because, like I said, I don't need them!" He stomped through the entrance.

"Sam." Dean snagged his brother by the arm before he stormed away. "I may look stupid in these," he gestured at his face, "but I'm not an idiot. You're the most anal person I know. You've got 'em stashed around here someplace."

Sam huffed. He wanted to argue the point. _I'm not that predictable! I've changed a lot in three years!_

But in the face of Dean's amused smirk, Sam gave a resigned sigh and headed back to the storeroom. To be honest, he felt a twinge of fondness at just how well his brother knew him. Finding his jacket, Sam pulled out his own wire framed glasses from the front pocket and carried them back out to Dean.

"Here."

Dean took the proffered lenses and replaced his glasses with Sam's. Glancing about the store, he raised an eyebrow.

"Huh. You sure these things are prescription?"

Sam plucked the glasses from Dean's nose and tucked them into his pocket. "Yes. They just aren't very strong, like I said."

"Put 'em on," Dean ordered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dean scrubbed his free hand down the back of his head, put his new glasses back on, and gestured at his face. "So I don't feel like an idiot here."

Sam felt a tug at his heart. He had known that Dean would feel embarrassed about needing glasses; it was the Winchester way, after all. But hearing him admit it aloud had Sam fumbling for his own specs and putting them on with a practiced hand.

"Happy?" he spat back at his brother, careful to conceal the tenderness he felt.

"Yep," Dean replied. He smiled at their reflected faces in one of the many mirrors around the optical shop. Sam's delicate gold rimmed oval frames contrasted with Dean's sturdier titanium pair of square-shaped lenses. Dean threw his good arm around his younger brother. "You're still nerdier than I am."

The younger man's expression contorted into a classic Sam Winchester bitch face. "Four-eyed jerk."

Dean smiled fondly and ruffled his brother's hair. "Bespectacled bitch."

* * *

A/N: This entire chapter was influenced by _Short-Sighted_ by Charli.


End file.
